


a ra christmas

by ace_bookdragon



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Poetry, did not feel like adding relationships because it's the ward and i'm lazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_bookdragon/pseuds/ace_bookdragon
Summary: The Ward is celebrating Christmas, and it's poetic.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Ranger's Apprentice Fanfic Christmas 2020





	a ra christmas

There are five of them  
walking together  
down the crowded,   
icy  
street  
bundled against the cold.  
They look so young  
though their faces   
show   
that they have seen  
hardship   
and   
terror.  
But now it is Christmas, and they have time to spare  
and they are happy.

One is a tall young man  
golden curls and a sword at his side.  
He has an arm slung over the shoulder of a smaller, dark-skinned boy, who smiles  
and gently punches his taller friend’s arm in response  
some small joke  
his eyes alight.

Two girls walk a little ahead of them  
one short and round, cheeks flushed red from the winter chill  
the other tall and slim, long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders in a sheet of gold.  
The shorter girl pauses  
reaches out for the hand of the bespectacled boy a few paces behind  
the one left out  
as always.

A book sticks out of this boy’s jacket pocket  
a sliver of cover just visible.  
One wonders what’s inside—  
fantastic tales of a far off land?  
or perhaps it’s something more realistic  
a Nihon-Jan phrasebook, maybe.  
He hurries a few steps to catch up with the two,  
and the tall one turns, asks him a question  
his eyes bright as he responds, head tilting a little  
hands making animated gestures through the air, dancing  
like a harpist’s over strings.

The icy wind   
picks up  
biting like a knife,  
a hint of sleet,  
and takes the mottled green cloak of the dark-skinned boy  
whips it around  
til it looks   
almost  
like butterfly wings about his back  
a name he was once called in a distant land, by a king restored to his throne  
 _Chocho._

There’s a laugh, playful snark from the bigger boy at the movement of the cloak  
the rounder girl says something  
and the five tumble through a door  
out of the wind  
into her restaurant.  
It’s nice;  
dark wood walls  
a crackling fire  
delicious smells.  
A waiter comes to them, sets their plates  
in clumsy movements, mumbling to himself _knife on the right, it’s like a sword,_  
and the short girl says she’ll eat with her guests  
(though she seems worried about her restaurant,  
its ability to function without her)  
and they order,   
laughing at how much the blond boy asks for  
gently teasing him _isn’t that too much for you to handle?_  
but he replies _I’m a growing boy_  
and they grin to themselves  
remembering  
how many times they’ve heard that.  
 _And besides,_  
the round girl says,  
 _it’s a holiday_  
they are all together  
—for once—  
so he should be able to eat as much as he wants.

The food is delicious when it comes  
so good that they stuff themselves, and still want more  
but the short girl smiles and takes their hands  
 _I have a surprise,_  
leads them up through the gathering darkness   
through cold to the castle on the hill  
a castle that stands   
glowing red in the weak winter sunset  
from the ironstone blocks that provide its near-impenetrability  
but are also a spectacle at sunset.

They go into the castle’s kitchens  
where the stout, red-haired cook reigns   
with his wooden ladle  
ready to hit the head of an unwary apprentice  
or someone who should not be there,  
but is.

Here he is now  
ladle poised to strike  
at those who dare invade  
but the smaller girl smiles at him  
says a few careful, polite words  
he sighs  
and lets them in.

The five stuff themselves on the pastries that the shorter girl takes   
from where they’ve been warming   
in the big oven  
 _—the surprise,_ she says,   
and she has baked their favorites.  
Slowly  
they move from sitting at the big table,   
where everything is   
mixed  
rolled  
cut each day  
to the floor, in a circle  
heads together, feet and arms crossed over each other  
a tangle of crumbs and bodies and laughter.

They talk, too,   
when the pastries are gone  
for longer than they have, since when?  
Nobody can remember,  
not even the bookish boy  
who has the best memory out of all of them.  
Catching up  
adding detail to the snippets of their lives  
shared over letters  
through the months they’ve been apart.

The kitchen is golden and warm by the ovens  
though the sky outside has long gone black  
and it’s heavenly, this moment  
a bit of peace  
before they go back to work.  
Days like these are rare  
when they can see each other  
and also simply _be._  
Right now they’re not a diplomat,   
a Ranger,   
a knight,   
a cook,   
a scribe of many talents  
they’re just five young people  
a family  
together.


End file.
